


Lievret regardant, heron passant

by La Reine Noire (lareinenoire)



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Richard II - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Court Factionalism, Crossover, Daemons, Dodgy Kingship Theory, Gen, Royalty in Compromising Positions, Uncivil War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lareinenoire/pseuds/La%20Reine%20Noire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were no guards to bar Henry of Lancaster and his forces from the gates of Flint Castle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lievret regardant, heron passant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gehayi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gehayi/gifts).



> Originally written as a response to this prompt: _Being devious, subtle or even discreet is rather hard when your daemon's appearance tells everyone who you truly are._
> 
> The prompt was brilliant while also being intensely complicated, if only because injecting daemons into the medieval period forced me to ask questions about how the King's Two Bodies would function if he had a daemon, and how one works in mythical beasts that people thought existed during the medieval period (i.e. dragons, gryphons), and suddenly everything became about heraldry. Many thanks to angevin2 for giving me a particularly relevant bit of Froissart to go with what, in Shakespeare's _Richard II_ , is Act III, Scene III.

There were no guards to bar Henry of Lancaster and his forces from the gates of Flint Castle. It was said the King's army of hired Welshmen had scattered to the hills, leaving the towering Border fortress abandoned by all but a few adherents.

 

"Like rats from a sinking ship," Hildegrin muttered from her perch at the front of his saddle. "Are you certain you _want_ to be King of England?"

 

"It's not about--"

 

The heron's eyes--small, black, unreadable--studied him with what even he could see was utter disdain. "You can't lie to me, Henry." Turning, she spread her wings and leapt gracefully into the air to perch on the roof of the gatehouse.

 

Henry opened his mouth to call her back when the King appeared on the battlements of the donjon. He had to have chosen the spot deliberately, with the setting sun at his back, gilding his hair and armour so he better resembled an archangel than a mere earthly monarch.

 

"Mere, indeed," he sighed. There was nothing mere about Cousin Richard.

 

Young Harry Percy came to a halt in front of him, his ferret daemon--Bellona, was that her name?--chittering excitedly on his shoulder. "...with him are the Lord Aumerle, Lord Salisbury, Sir Stephen Scroop--"

 

Of course Aumerle was there. Henry couldn't help glancing at his uncle, who grumbled something under his breath. Beside him, Frideswide whickered, no doubt in an attempt to be comforting.

 

As much to distract himself from the image of Richard as anything else, Henry motioned to his uncle and, rather more reluctantly, the Duke of Northumberland. It was a ridiculous game they played, trading words through intermediaries when he ought to have sent Hildegrin to speak directly to Mathe.

 

Of course, this was far from a normal situation, so normal rules no longer applied.

 

It ought not to have surprised him that Richard ignored Northumberland completely. Instead, the donjon doors opened and the lithe, familiar shape appeared. Mathe was visibly shivering at being so far from Richard, constantly glancing over her shoulder at where Richard stood, gloved fingers clutching at the battlements.

 

_Christ_ , thought Henry, _he must be desperate_.

 

He did not remember dismounting, but heard the soft thump of Hildegrin landing on his vacated saddle.

 

"Mathe?" he called, one hand outstretched. Looking up, he almost spoke Richard's name, but stopped at the expression on his cousin's face.

 

Without a word, the shimmering greyhound crept to Henry's feet and, with a visible shudder, pressed herself against his leg. Another cautious glance at Richard revealed that his cousin had bent forward, bright hair shielding his face from view. Aumerle had his arm round Richard's shoulders and was glaring daggers at Henry. He could just imagine Andromache growling, grey fur standing on end. She'd always been protective of Richard, almost more so than she was of Aumerle.

 

And that was the end, really. The obeisance of Richard's daemon was, in essence, the obeisance of Richard himself. But Henry, watching his cousin descend from the tower, could only wonder what game Richard--consummate actor that he was--might be playing. If there was one lesson a king learnt early, it was how to use his daemon as a mask.

 

Henry wondered if he would ever become as adept as Richard.

 


End file.
